Autumn 2007 - Today began the same as most of my days have begun since spring of 2004. That's when I accepted the realization I would not be going back to work outside the home. Since then, I have struggled to get out of my wonderfully comfortable bed and start my day. Blindly I stubble to the bathroom, splash water on my face and brush my teeth.
It's hard to imagine that it's been about nine years since I retired from the Navy.
On my way to the kitchen, I open window blinds to let the morning light in. I need the light. My morning routine continues as I prepare the coffee pot and take our medications from the cabinet. Breakfast is prepared for Gordo, Jenna’s cat.
Once my wife is out the door for work, Gordo and I sit by the water garden as the fish shyly eat their breakfast too.
Jenna passed away this past March. She was only twenty-three.
Aug 21, 2008 - As I watch our Family Tree grow, I am filled with many emotions that nearly overwhelm me. It seems unfair that I have lived more than half my life not knowing so many wonderful people. Many of you are blood relations with similar character traits and appearances. The passing of time has stolen countless un-shared moments and memories from us. I hope that we are blessed with enough remaining years to share many more happy moments and make new memories that will be carved in the trees of our future generations.
Maternal Relatives - Paterno
Treasured Memories
Recently, after reading some of my poetry a family member asked if I could write something about Corsie Noble Prater, my Grandmother. Many times, since, I have sat for long moments thinking about Grandma. I always have the same picture of her in my mind. She is wearing one of her long-flowered dresses that buttoned down in front and fell about halfway between her knees and her black leather shoes. Her long black hair with streaks of grey was always pulled tightly back and tied in a bun on the crown of her head. Warm eyes, behind black framed glasses seemed to look deep inside my soul. When she talked with me. She would say “Johnny, when you get older, please don’t smoke, cuss or drink whiskey. They’re no good for you. Promise me you won’t do any of that bad stuff.” I’m not sure why I remember her saying that to me. I think maybe she must have said it more than once, and I can almost feel her pain and anguish as I play it over and over in my mind. It wasn’t until I was a little older, maybe ten or twelve, that I began to understand what she meant. Eating my Grandma’s cooking was one of the best things I remember. I could never get enough gravy, biscuits, and fried apples. It was so much fun to watch her enjoy her coffee too. I would always ask for a taste, but she’d tell me that it would stunt my growth. “Coffee is an adult drink.” She’d say. As I recall, she liked it very hot and with milk. I don’t know if she used sugar, I never paid much attention to that. What sticks so vividly in my mind’s eye, is how she would pour it gently into the saucer under the cup. Then she would sip it from the saucer. Back then as a kid I thought; How funny is that. Now I realize she was doing it to cool the coffee just a bit so she could really enjoy it. After a few times of this ritualistic method, she would drink the rest from the cup.
Big meals on special occasions or holidays were the greatest. There was always so much food and delicious pies and desserts. I was the most shy of shy boys in those early years. I know now I was more than a little introverted and had a lot of anxiety about being with lots of people, even family. I was usually a loner and looked for a corner to eat my food. I preferred it when it was just me, Grandpa, Grandma and my Uncles Arnold and Denis in the house. I felt that sometimes my Grandma liked to be alone too. When it was just her and me eating one of my favorite meals, fried chicken, soup beans (pinto beans) and cornbread, she was my fun Grandma. If you have ever eaten a ‘Down Home Country Cooked Meal’ as I just described; then you know it is finger lick’n good, literally. Now, I’m one of those country-raised boys that was taught to clean his plate. A phrase I grew up with, and try to practice even today was, “Waste not, Want not.” So… I would watch my Grandma gingerly gather bits of crumbled cornbread between her thumb and two fingers. With my head down, pretending not to notice, I watched as her delicate fingers-tips moved around the plate. When she was finished, there was not a crumb of cornbread, or a drop of bean soup left on her plate. Not knowing, she was teaching me. Moreover, as I write this, the emotions swell up inside me. I am filled with Love and Admiration for her. My Grandma was showing me what it meant to truly be yourself and enjoy things in your own special way. Her numerous, subtle teachings touched me and molded me in many ways. Treasures all; some to share the rest now stored away in my minds scrape book and photo album of her and that wonderful old house on the hill.
Corsie Noble Prater was a wife, mother, sister, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend to many. To me, her young, scared grandson, she was the most important woman in my life. As I have no memories of my birth mother, just a few black and white photos. My beautiful Grandmother did her best to shelter me, comfort me and teach me Love. And… as different as they may be from yours; these are my memories of the Grandest Lady in the whole wide world.
Date unknown
Breathitt County High
I originally started to write this bit of High School History in February 2015. But became frustrated when I found that I couldn’t recall key elements essential to the story. Probably the most disturbing thing is being unable to remember the name of my most favorite Teacher. Secondly, did she teach History? That’s what I remember, anyway. Thirdly, what was the actual location of the classroom, specific to this particular story?
I do however recall that my good friend John Hollon and I sat fairly close to the door. When the bell rang, we would usually scramble to be the first out of the classroom. Earlier in the school year, on one of those occasions of horseplay, I was shoved or stumbled. Whatever was the case, my shoulder crashed through one of the glass panes in the door. We were both scolded by our Teacher... Oh how I wish I could remember her name. I can’t be completely sure, but I believe it was the Fall of 1971. I would have been in the 10th grade and my last class of the day was History. I have tried desperately to picture the location of the classroom, in my mind. Was it the room next to the detention hall across from the gym?
The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day. On this particular day; there had been no scrambling for the door. I was alone in the crowd of students walking and running toward the parking lot where the buses were parked. I don’t recall why, but I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the bus that day as I slowly lumbered along. Suddenly, I felt a deep stabbing pain in my backside as someone ran past me. I didn’t see who it was.
On the long bus-ride home, I remember that I could barely sit still. My backside hurt an awful lot. Getting home, I told my Mom what had happened and asked if she could take a look. A few inches below my belt line, on the right side, she found the puncture site. The area was very red and swollen with very little bleeding. Right there in the center, was a small dark spot. Using a sewing needle, she extracted a small piece of pencil lead.
Yep, I had been stabbed in the butt by a school mate wielding a pencil.
Date unknown
This Fictional Short was written after hearing about an actual event that involved My Grandfather John Paterno. During WWI he was a Private in the Army, assigned to the 115th Field Artillery Regiment of the 30th Division.
The Cigarette
The German Soldier aimed his Mouser rifle and squeezed the trigger. The cartridge exploded inside the chamber sending the bullet spiraling through the barrel. Lightning fast, the lead bullet sped across no-man’s land.
Private John (Giovanni) Paterno and his friend Maurice sat crouched in the mud. They and other allied Soldiers were in their trenches, just a few hundred feet opposite the German lines. Finishing a can of Navy beans, John tossed the can aside. Rubbing his stomach, he jokingly commented how full and satisfied he felt.
“I don’t think I have ever eaten anything so delicious in my life.” He laughed.
His friend laughed with him. The two men sat there for several more minutes taking about what ever came to mind. John was looking forward to getting home. His father had a pepper farm in New Jersey. Pepper farming was not at all bad. John also wondered about his brother Henry. Henry was also in France.
Throwing his thumb over his shoulder, he remarked, "Somewhere out there is my brother."
John then stretched out his arms and yawned. “What I wouldn’t give for a cigarette right now."
Maurice agreed that cigarette would sure be nice. Fishing around in his pockets, John found his last cigarette. Showing it off, he smoothed the crumpled thing, being careful to not lose any of the tobacco inside. Knowing he had no match, he asked Maurice if he had one. Maurice patted his right breast pocket and then his left. Smiling, he lifted the flap. Reaching inside he produced a small box. Pushing it open, he showed the contents to John. There was but one match remaining in the box. Maurice retrieved the match, motioning John to come closer. Both men cupped their hands around the cigarette and match. Pulling the match along the side of the box, Maurice said a quite prayer. The match came to life. John excitedly puffed on the cigarette tasting the stale but flavorful tobacco. Maurice chuckled, blowing out the still lite match. Standing fully erect, John took a long, pleasant drag on the cigarette. Slowly he let the smoke escape from his lungs and out through his mouth. He smiled.
The wall of the trench erupted spiting dirt and grime into John’s eyes. As he fell to his face in the muddy trench, he heard the faint crack of a rifle. Maurice quickly grabbed John by his shoulders and rolled him over. John slowly opened his eyes, wiping the mud away.
“Nearly lost your head there!” Maurice laughed.
Getting to his feet, careful to stay low, John sat on the nearest box. Maurice sat down next to him. A moment later Maurice began to laugh loudly, pointing at John’s hand. Looking down, John realized the still lit cigarette was in his hand. Laughing, he handed the cigarette to Maurice.
“Your turn, my good friend.” He said.
Non la fine
(Not the end)
My Uncle John Paterno's War Story
By: Richard L Paterno
When I was a young boy my Uncle John told me a story from WWI. But now that I am getting up in years myself, I can't be sure if he was telling me about his brother, Henry, or his own experience. They were both in the Great War of 1918.
During WWI, my uncle was in combat, most likely with the field artillery. Sometimes there were spells of quiet, with not much to do, and rations were short. On a day such as this, my uncle stumbled upon a single cigarette in his breast pocket. He put the cigarette in his mouth and then searched for a match. After checking all his pockets and finding no matches, he asked his buddies, but they had not one match between them. He took a few drags on the dead cigarette, finding no gratification. Then he looked up to the sky and said, “God I do wish I had a match." Knowing my Uncle, he probably said this in Italian.
Then, he told me, he lowered his head to say a prayer. As he did, he notices a single, wooden match at his feet. Quickly he bent down to pick it up. At that moment Uncle John heard a shot ring out. It seems a sniper's shot just whizzed over his head and missed. Wasting no time he said a quick prayer of thanks.
Now, I never asked if he smoked that fateful cigarette. However, I will always be glad that God was watching over him and brought him home safe; for my life would have been less full, not having known him.
After Operations
After Operations - Eagle Pull and Frequent Wind written in 2000, is non-fictional. This reflection was written as a memorial and tribute to the two US Marines that lost their lives at the Saigon Embassy, and the many innocents that were displaced or died at the hands on the Communist invaders.
Just before Christmas 1974, the Amphibious Assault Ship, USS Vancouver (LPD-2) was pier-side at Red Beach, Okinawa. The Vancouver had recently arrived at Red Beach from Naval Station San Diego, California and would only be at Red Beach for a few days. US Marines from 2nd Battalion 4th Marines were already aboard. An Artillery Battery from 3rd Battalion, 12th Marines at Camp Hansen and a three-man team of Air/Naval Gunfire Spotters from Headquarters Battalion, came aboard as well. Soon the ship filled with Sailors and Marines would be on its’ way to the South China Seas to continue a six-month training deployment.
The deployment was going along as scheduled. Navy and Marine personnel from the US Navy’s 7th Fleet which included Vancouver, and many other ships were conducting various training exercises in and around the Philippine Islands and were having ports-of-call, in places such as Hong Kong, Taiwan and Thailand.
Vancouver was one of several ships that was in-port Subic Bay one sunny day in early March 1975. The writer recalls being told by a local that everyone had to go back to the base and to their ships. It turned out to be true. Shore Patrol was going from bar to bar and restaurant to restaurant, up and down the streets telling everyone to go back to the base and their ships. Someone heard from a girl in bar that there was trouble in Vietnam. There was lots of excitement and questions, but no one was told anything until a few days later when the Navy and Marine Task Force was sitting just off the coast of Southwestern Cambodia.
Besides the MIA’s and POWs, only a few (MSG’s) Marines of the Security Guard and Embassy personnel were still officially in-country. As Sailors and Marines waited to go into action, everyone was placed on alert. The ship’s guns were manned around the clock watching for approaching aircraft or small boats. Embarked Marines cleaned weapons and readied communications equipment.
Several weeks later, with Operation Eagle Pull under their belt, Marines on the Vancouver began to saddle up as Helicopters on the main deck turned up their engines. There were moments of anger, frustration and pride as Danny, Richard and the writer assisted buddies in Hotel Company, get their gear in order. The ANGF Team was disappointed because it had been decided that the Spotters would stay behind. Everyone had become pretty tight since leaving Okinawa. Corporal Charles (Chuck) Brown; a squad leader was a hometown buddy of Danny’s. Danny and Chuck were both from South Coffeeville, Oklahoma. No one knew it then, but everyone was going to have their hands full with the hundreds of refugees that would fill the ship. The helicopters were ready, and the Marines got onboard. The birds left the deck of the Vancouver and flew off toward the coast of Vietnam until they were out of sight. Operation Frequent Winds was on. The talk was quiet, filled with mixed emotions of excitement, anger and frustration. They had taken very limited ammunition.
The order was “Once on the ground, lock and load your weapons but, do not fire unless given the order to do so."
“I flew into the Embassy with Recon. I was part of a small machinegun attachment. We were in the Administration Building overlooking the rear gate. Remember when the civilian bus tried to ram the gate? Feed cover down, locked and loaded, no shot fired.” (US Marine David F. Chisholm, H&S Company, 2nd Battalion 4th Marines)
“It was an experience I will never forget. Thirteen of us were left behind at the DAO Compound (Defense Attaché Office) for some time after the last evacuation chopper left the area. Finally, sometime later we were extracted in the early morning hours and flown to the USS Midway. When the sun finally came up the sky was filled with what looked like hundreds of fleeing ARVN choppers. It was quite a sight. I watched a Piper Cub aircraft land on the Midway. I didn’t think they would make it but thank God they did.” (US Marine Harry Houck, 3rd Platoon, Hotel Company, 2nd Battalion 4th Marines)
During the return voyage to Subic Bay, Mike, one of the writer's buddies, spent hours drawing cartoon characters for the many refugee children. Other Marines and Sailors did whatever possible to comfort the hundreds of refugees as well as by relinquishing their sleeping quarters to them. Marines and Sailors slept on the cold hard decks or a-top Amtrak’s and in Communications vehicles. There was so much emotional pain and anguish among the people who had lost loved ones left behind or killed by the invading North. What could the writer, a nineteen-year-old Marine, do to help ease the pain and suffering? Nothing!
Arriving at Subic Bay several days later, the task of offloading the hundreds of refugees from Navy ships was completed quickly.
The Brass, then immediately turned their attention to the multitude of ships and boats in and around Subic Bay and Grande Island. The Navy was dispatched to neutralize weapons and guns on all the military ships and elevate guns to the extreme vertical position. Civilians and military relinquished their personal small arms and ammunition, which were tossed into the bay. On the morning of a beautiful sunrise in May 1975, the mission to provide security for each ship or boat in the bay was put into action. Mike-8 boats filled with Marines made their way to the waiting vessels.
On that morning Sgt Roxberry, Richard, Ron, Mike and the writer were placed on an old WWII LST with twin 40mm guns on her forward deck. There were 543 refugees including the ship’s Captain and crew. The original order for boarding the refugee ships included fixed bayonets and locked and loaded weapons (M-16’s). Several of the five-man team made the request that they be allowed to sheath their bayonets and load M-16’s but not have a round in the chamber. Sgt Roxberry quickly assessed the situation and concluded that for safety reasons the request was a good idea. The Mike-8 boat sat so low in the water that young Vietnamese men and crew extended their arms to assist the five-man team aboard.
Once on board the ship, it became clear that there was an immediate need for food and water. The Ship’s Captain provided Sgt Roxberry with the manifest and complete control of the ship. Later that same day potable water and cases of combat rations arrived. As the Captain announced each family name and number of family members, representatives came forward to receive their ration of food and water. Later that evening a young man approached the writer, explaining that there were about 25 children on board under the age of two years that needed milk. They just could not eat the canned C-rations. Sgt Roxberry gave permission for the writer to radio the request for milk. The Operations Commander promised milk would be delivered at first light the next day.
Early the next day, someone yelled that a banca boat was approaching the ship. The standing order was to keep all boats from coming along side. Members of the team scrambled portside to order the boat away. Over the shouting, the man in the banca boat yelled that he had milk. He was then allowed to come along side. However, the boat was too low in the water for him to reach the cases of milk up to deck.
Ron remarked; "Prater requested the milk, so he should get it."
True, but the deck of the ship was covered in excrement and urine, as the refugees were reliving themselves when and where needed. Lying on my stomach, the writer was lowered over the side by Ron and a young Vietnamese man. Dangling over the side of the ship, the writer grasped each case of milk and hauled them up one by one. The refugees clapped and laughed when they saw the milk and the writer's wet and filthy fatigues.
There was a great feeling of pride and worth that will never be forgotten.
Many people had boarded the ship hoping that their family members had done the same. Exclaiming that the Marines were their saviors, several pleaded for help finding lost loved ones and family. Each had to be told the same excruciating thing.
“There is nothing we can do at this moment. Please wait, you will have a chance to look for your missing family.”
Those that did not speak English didn’t need to. Their eyes revealed their fear and anguish.
Sometime on the fourth day, the ship was towed to a pier and the 543 refugees were filed off. Many of the people shook hands with the Marines as they departed. Others hugged them and cried, “Thank you, thank you.”
"Other than in my heart, where are those innocents today?”
The Sound of Silence
Sometimes I hear a song, see someone or often it’s just a slight odor that takes me back. Back to a time and place that resides in the dark recesses of my memory. I had one of those; “Memory Rewinds” a few days ago. One that I have each time I hear a very special song. I am instantly recalling a period in my life when I was lost in my own self-pity, a time when I didn’t know who I was, who I wanted to be or where I was going. As I look back on this chapter from a more learned and self-aware persona, I can at present make sense of it.
Know this: I am in no way glorifying or condoning any of my actions or non-actions. My thoughtless, selfish and destructive attitude was childish and ignorant. Although this period has its place in my life book, I do have regrets.
In late 1975 on the Island of Okinawa, Japan, I was assigned to Air/Naval Gunfire Platoon, Communications Company. I enjoyed my job as a Spotter and had by this time completed a major deployment, a trip to Pohang, Korea and was skilled in Jungle Survival and Tactical Air Support. I was a Lance Corporal in the United States Marine Corps and loved every minute of it, well not all of them. I hated the days that my best buddies Danny and Richard left the ‘Rock’, Okinawa. We had become very tight during the deployment that had climaxed with the Evacuations of Phnom Penn, Cambodia and Saigon, South Vietnam. I was very self-absorbed, overconfident and extremely ignorant before that experience, but that person died in April 1975. The exposure to such political chaos, human suffering and death awakened something or someone inside me. I felt so helpless, ashamed, frustrated and outraged. There was nothing I could truly do to relieve the suffering of those innocent people. Against a communist aggressor, these people had waged war with us by their side. We, the United States, had abandoned them exactly two years earlier in their fight for freedom. The anger and hatred I felt for the invading North Vietnamese was nearly overwhelming. I was only able to contain and control these overpowering emotions by focusing all my energy on those that needed me. As hundreds came aboard our ship, other Marines and I escorted them to designated areas, and during the voyage from Saigon to Subic Bay we stood guard over them. I remember feeling so small and humbled. We soon however found ourselves catering to their needs and doing anything to comfort them, even entertaining the children. Their helplessness, sadness, fears and anxieties were contagious and overpowering. I was however, comforted in knowing the gratitude of hundreds for my small part in saving them from death or a life of oppression.
I cannot say for sure when the transformation took place, whether it happened during that experience, or after. It is also possible that I continue to transform, even as I write this reminiscence. I became; No more the scared, ignorant child with no point of view. I began to search my soul and ask many questions of myself and others. I often spent hours contemplating my place in the scheme of things and pondering my future or non-future with the Marines. Consuming ‘strong drink,’ alcohol was a way of escaping and avoiding the reality of life choices. I often drank myself into a stupor listening to: ‘The Sounds of Silence’ – Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel.
Written in 2010
"Hello Darkness My Old Friend"
Dec 2009 - Consider a society or culture where everyone is equally responsible one for the other. No one is hungry, everyone shares. No one is without shelter. Every able body helps build adequate shelter for those that cannot. No one suffers from an illness without proper treatment. The local doctor treats first and never worries about payment. There is no need for multiple political representations. The laws, by, for and of the people are never misinterpreted nor do they become diluted by the wealth of a few. Crimes against a brother or sister are rare. Love and compassion are the cornerstone of a person’s values. Depression, sadness and hopelessness are not in the vocabulary. The prospect of viewing another sunrise upholds enthusiasm, joy and the knowledge of many new possibilities.
You may take joy in this: There are such societies yet in existence. Sheltered from the wolves of prosperity, they flourish, in secluded wonderfully beautiful places on the earth.
I beg of you! Do not seek them out for any reason. They need not the poison of capitalism, the confusion of politics or religion. Let them live in their ignorant bliss, free from the overwhelming cancers inflicted by the capitalistic world beyond the sunset.
Dec 15, 2009 - John’s Perspective
I beg your indulgence as you follow along with my passionate statements, innuendos and conjectures, in this no holds barred bit of philosophy – perspective.
Life experiences teach us many lessons, many of which may come with steep prices. Life (used as a noun) takes every opportunity to teach us useful and rewarding lessons. The longer we walk among the living, the more we should glean from our experiences. Sometimes, Life must use drastic measures and slap us down on more than one occasion to get a lesson to sink in. Why is this? Are we so hardheaded or just plain ignorant? There have been times in my own walk that I have shielded my eyes from the truth. I was guilty of not adhering to my own principals, or those of the moral majority. I was careful however, not to break the laws of man. I would merely bend or ignore them to meet my own selfish needs. In no way am I attempting to validate my own ignorant actions. I am deeply regretful of any harm my past actions may have caused others.
As upright and moral Human Beings, we are entrusted with the responsibility of sharing our knowledge with those who come behind us. More specifically, we are tasked with providing directions to our children. The shocking truth I have become more and more aware of is this:
"The once-up-on-a-time traditional, moral values of the by-gone years have become by-gone values.”
When this phenomenon began to take root is difficult to discern. Some would place the blame on the ever-changing power of media and the content there-in. Others might say the fault lies with our government and our religious leaders; however, separate they may be. Many would condemn war and conflicts among the world’s nations. Proclaiming; “Violence breeds violence.” But, what of values, where have they gone? Is there a lack of values in the world today? No! Values are today as big a part of a person’s conscious decisions as they always have been. In today’s world however, values – ideals – principles – standards and ethics have taken on new and different meanings. Although the previously mentioned words are synonyms of the other, they are misused and misunderstood. We no longer use these words to describe a person’s or a nation’s character. We have become accustomed to stating or asking; “They have absolutely no moral values.” “What kind of values do they have?” “Do they have any values at all?” It may surprise you to know that; yes, they have values. The questionable values have been adapted to fit a specific situation or period in the Life of this person or nation. We know that there are many factors that affect one’s ultimate concept of values. Just a few of these are: culture, religion, education, and race. What we may not know or understand is this concept of ‘Situational Values’.
Consider this situation: You exit the bank after being denied a loan. You have three hungry children at home, and one is very sick. Medical bills have broken the bank, and you just lost your job. Standing next to a trash bin, you consider your options. Then, you see it. A wallet is lying on the ground. As you pick it up, you notice the corners of three one-hundred-dollar bills. What would you do???
Now... Consider this situation: You exit the bank after being denied a loan. You have three hungry children at home, and one is very sick. Medical bills have broken the bank, and you just lost your job. Standing next to a trash bin, you consider your options. Then, you see it. A wallet is lying on the ground. As you pick it up, you notice the corners of three one-hundred-dollar bills. As you slide the bills from the wallet, a business card comes with them. The card belongs to the mother of your very best friend: What would you do???
Situational Values – Attitude, needs, and information may play significant roles in life's many decisions. If you believe yourself to be of ‘High Moral Standards,’ let nothing nor anyone influence you to make a decision that will lead to you having – Situational Values.
2010 - Teenagers, in general seem to be more defiant and rebellious in today’s society than ever before. I find that there are many who dwell outside the house of common courtesy and decency. I do however doubt these same teens behave the same in their home and interact with parents and grandparents in similar manners as they do in public. These comments are my own and I will attempt to express my opinion without speaking for anyone. I take full ownership and responsibility for what follows.
I have experienced and witnessed such behaviors firsthand on several occasions. The most recent incident occurred just this morning, as High School Students in my neighborhood made their way to the school bus stop on a nearby corner. This incident is not the first of its kind nor will it be the last.
First, allow me to describe the street I live on and nearly all the similar streets in this community. The street is narrow but is the standard for two-way traffic. There are sidewalks on either side that are usually walk-able from end to end, as it is one of the association rules to not block the sidewalks. This particular street is a kind of throughway for families that reside in the community as well as the gated community to the west end of the street. This street is short as it spans only two blocks with about ten homes on either side. There are two speedbumps, low and rounded, not steep and sharp. As you can imagine, they do nothing to keep traffic at the required 25mph.
This morning, just before 7:00 AM the constant beep-beep sound of a vehicle in reverse prompted me to take a look. I will admit I am sort of the watchdog for our street. My neighbor directly across from me was preparing to leave for work. He had his car in the street, which is appropriate as it was after 6:00 AM. What I observed is typical behavior, as I mentioned above, for many of the Teens in this community. A large minibus contracted to provide transportation for special needs children was directly in front of my home. The driver was attempting to maneuver around a Teenager walking in the middle of the street. As my neighbors’ car was on the right side of the street, this left more than enough room for the minibus. However, there was an obstacle, the Teen who had no intention of moving. Another vehicle was approaching from the opposite end of the street with no plans for slowing down for the speed bump. The mini-bus driver was forced to back out of the way of the approaching vehicle as he/she was blocking the left side of the street. The Teen, still standing in the middle of the street, proceeded on his way to the corner bus stop. The minibus was again forced to go around him as other vehicles waited impatiently behind. The school bus was at the corner, just to my left and front. A white sedan that had been behind the minibus stopped and picked up the Teen. As he entered the vehicle he remarked; “That (blank) almost hit me!” The white sedan sped toward the corner, vaulting the speed bump stopping at the corner. Several other teenagers exited the sedan including the one who had inspired this blog. The driver of the white sedan put his car in reverse and proceeded to travel back in the direction he had come. He drove past two homes to my left before backing into a driveway to make a 180. He then continued on his way to the end of the street and the waiting stop sign.
After shaking my head at the scene that had just unfolded before me, I stood at my front entry trying to enjoy the morning fresh air. Turning to go back into my home, I considered what I had just witnessed while suppressing the mounting emotions and negative thoughts inside me.
Jan 08, 2013
Coffee is made, medications are taken, and then I relax in one of two places. Depending upon the weather, I will either sit outside on the back patio area or inside facing the large open patio doors. In both places I have a clear but slightly different view of the backyard and the surrounding area. I do however prefer being outside, as I very much enjoy watching the waterfowl in the lake and listening to them as they go about their morning rituals.
I too have a morning ritual, this set of habits and so-called routine. My six-year-old Chihuahua, Mr. Coco, is always in my lap as we both sit in silence, I in deep thought. Although my thoughts usually differ, recently my direction of thought has been driven by nightly dreams. Disturbing and confusing dreams which leave me with perplexing feelings. Most times I cannot recall the dream or parts there-in. People or persons are faceless, and environments are obscure. I, myself 'am unrecognizable.
I am left with indiscernible feelings and unsettling notions. Unable to distinguish between reality and imagined, I ponder an interpretation.
My mood of the day, sensitivity, and behavior is often influenced by my attempt to analysis the feelings and thoughts that consume me.
Today 11/26/2013, I am more depressed than usual. I am easily agitated and short with my wife. I have familiar physiological symptoms and overpowering emotions, emotions of self-disgust, frustration and anger. I am angry that I feel self-pity and that old woo-is-me syndrome. I have the urge/need to cry but no tears will come; my anger is stronger than the sadness I feel. A lack of un-worthiness has crept in again as it has so many times before. Thoughts of self-destructive behavior are fleeting, although reoccurring. For the second time in the past few days, I have considered taking medication in order to sleep away the hours and days. I am resisting this action today. I have been mentally planning an escape from the impending family gathering during the Holiday Season. I surmise that by distancing myself from family and friends, I will be free from these feelings. The putting on of a happy face is so tiresome. It is much easier to be as I am; un-happy. Social and spiritual interaction with others helps to counter much of the negativity. But, trying to show genuine interest and attentiveness is weakened but intrusive thoughts.
Break-
My thoughts became unorganized, and I could not continue with this writing. I took a short break during which time I sat in my comfortable chair, my little Chihuahua, Coco in my lap. He is and has been a source of comfort and helps me to refocus. He seems to sense my need for solitude and relaxation, as he snuggles in my lap demanding calmness.
Dec 02, 2013 - Several days have passed since I made a rash decision. In a moment of personal distress, I un-friended all my non-relative friends on my Facebook account. The next day, I assigned my Baby Sister as the admin’ of the Prater Family page and assigned my Cousin Joy as the admin’ of the Paterno Family page. I then deactivated my Facebook account. The next day I deleted it. Today, I regret the rash and selfish decision I have made. At the time of my actions, I did not consider the impact it may have on others. I only thought of myself and my reasons for doing so.
One of the symptoms of my mental disorder is to avoid conflict of any kind. Anything that may cause conflict or disrupts the calm and simple life that I strive for. I usually avoid it or remove it from my life. This is what I did in this case, although I considered it to be a compromise and a sacrifice. Many of the Friends from my past, such as Junior High, High School and Junior College have reconnected with me and I with them. Following and communicating with them has brought me much joy and a newfound appreciation for the Friendship and Fellowship we once had. Although, at times I have found myself slipping into a state of melancholy; it is a feeling that I consider natural and expected. Following my Family on Facebook was very important to me. In the years past, (before Facebook) I missed many great events and much news. Facebook has allowed me to become closer to my immediate Family and extended Family alike. I have been able to seek out former Shipmates and Friends from a time very precious in my life. Some would say that most Facebook Friends are just that; not real Friends at all. I feel differently about that. Many of the people I have re-connected with; I call Friends. Many are of Friendly Foreign Nations and Military Service. It is a pleasure to follow their careers, exploits and significant life events. I truly enjoy viewing the many photos of their Families, Military Operations, and vacations. I find that we, as former and current Military, have much in common.
As I write this, I am not sure how I must deal with the dilemma that I am faced with. I am deeply troubled and disillusioned.
Today, Sunday, 16 February 2025, as I re-share this previous Blog post, I am still without a Facebook account.
This is how I started the last week of 2014...
Knowing that I had an up-coming appointment at the VA Clinic for a CT scan, I checked my calendar several times during the day on Sunday. Before going to bed, I set my clock. My appointment was scheduled for 8:30am. After the morning routine of Dog duty, Coffee and Medications for my wife and my-self, I headed out the door. The usual 30-minute drive to the Clinic was only about 20 minutes. There was minimal traffic for a Monday morning.
Arriving early, I walked up to the Radiology Department window and checked in. As the clerk looked for my name on the scheduled appointment list, I glanced at the calendar next to his desk.
“You’re not going to find my name on today’s schedule” I told him. “I’m a day early.”
After a minute of humor between us, he called the Technician and asked if I could be fitted into the morning schedule for a CT scan. The answer was “No.”
The Clerk apologized. I gracefully accepted and remarked that I would return on Tuesday as scheduled.
So… My week has started with a few minutes of lost sleep, the un-necessary cost of gas and tolls and coffee stains on my jeans. Also, the routine of sitting in the back yard with Mr. Coco drinking my coffee was disrupted. Worst of all, I missed some morning cuddle time with my wife.
What will tomorrow bring?
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